


As You Wish

by CloseToSomethingReal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Genre: Buttercup is Newton, F/M, Fezzik is Aziraphale, Humperdink is Gabriel, Inigo is Crowley, M/M, Miracle Max is Madame Tracy, Princess Bride AU, Quick rundown:, Rugen is Hastur, Valerie is Shadwell, Vizinni is Sandalphon, Westley is Anathema
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloseToSomethingReal/pseuds/CloseToSomethingReal
Summary: Nanny Ashtoreth has a story to tell. In fact, she's being rather insistent about the children (and her husband) settling down and letting her tell it.Her story features fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love and miracles, along with some rather familiar characters.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 10





	1. Anybody Want A Peanut?

“Nanny Ashtoreth, we’re all too old for a fairy tale,” Adam complained, although he didn’t move from where the nanny had directed the Them to take a seat. 

“This had better not be another helpless princess getting saved by a big, strong _man,”_ Pepper added. 

“Fairy tales often have morals for children to learn, but I do believe after saving the world, we might be well enough off without learning any more,” Wenseydale added, being as infuriatingly intellectual as always. 

“Nanny Ash, it’s good to see you again but do my parents know I’m here?” Warlock asked, blowing his bangs out of his face. 

“You know Nanny Ash?” Adam asked, surprised. 

“Yeah, she was my _nanny,_ ” Warlock replied, “how do _you_ all know her?”

“We stopped the end of the world with her and Aziraphale,” Pepper said, matter-of-fact tone plain in her voice. 

“Aziraphale? Who’s that, Brother Francis?”

“Warlock, dear, I’ll explain everything to you _after_ you all be quiet and let me tell you the story. I think you’ll like it,” Nanny Ash, who was more commonly known as Crowley with the other children, replied.

“If we listen to the fairy tale, will there be snacks?” Brain asked, the only _reasonable_ one of the bunch. 

“Absolutely. If you all sit quietly and listen to the story, Aziraphale will bring…”

“Oodles of snacks!” Aziraphale interrupted from where he _also_ sat on the ground, back up against the side of Nanny’s Ashtoreth’s lawnchair. “Why do you get the only seat _not_ on the ground?” 

“You wear the stockings, garters, pencil skirt and high-heels next time, and you can have the actual chair, and I’ll sit in the grass,” Nanny Ash replied, “we both know I _gladly_ would have been the gardener if you hadn’t insisted that I looked better in a skirt, and the Dowling’s garden would have been better off for it.” 

“And Hell _told_ you to be involved, you needed the most involved part,” Aziraphale gripped, “Warlock would know a _much_ less frightening lullaby if you hadn’t been the nanny.” 

“What’s the story about?” Brian asked, frowning as the angel and demon got off topic. 

“Has it got any action?” Pepper asked. 

“Any sports?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, of course there’s action! I’m a demon, not some daycare worker trying to put toddlers to bed for a nap. It’s got fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love and miracles! Now, are you going to let me tell the story, or not?”

“I’ll try not to fall asleep,” Adam said, with a big fake yawn. 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence. You’re lucky you’re the Antichrist and I can’t do anything about your sass, young man,” Nanny Ash said with a sniff, settled down a little more in her chair. 

“Can we _please_ start the story before I _do_ fall asleep?” Pepper asked, at the same time as Warlock echoed the word ‘Antichrist?’ with a rather confused look on his face. 

“Crowley, dear girl, I thought we agreed _you_ were going to catch Warlock up before we brought him to Tadfield,” Aziraphale said. 

Nanny Ash frowned. “Nope, pretty sure you were going to do that.” 

“That’s not the conversation I remember having, Crowley,” Aziraphale protested, with a frown on his face. 

“Are you sure you're not remembering a conversation from eleven years ago, when we were looking after Warlock?”

“No, I’m not remembering that.” 

“Well what about Moses, then? I know we told _him_ our true natures, and _that_ time I did agree to do it.” 

“Oh, rats, that’s what I was thinking of,” Aziraphale confirmed, “my mistake, Warlock, dear, we’ll have to have a chat after Crow- Nanny Ash is done telling you the story. I assure you, it’s a good one, I keep telling her she should write it down. _I_ would certainly buy a copy.”

“You would buy a copy of any book, angel.”

Nanny Ash didn’t give anyone else a chance to interrupt her. She cleared her throat, crossed her legs in a manner Aziraphale had _repeatedly_ told her was unladylike, and that was why she did it, and began her story. 

“Anathema Device had worked at the Pulsifer’s farm, in the country of Florin, since she was young. She was a hard working young lady-”

 _“Anathema_ the witch is in this story?” Pepper asked incredulously. 

Nanny Ash sighed. “No. I’m just using names you kids will recognize so you can picture the scene better. Obviously Anathema wasn’t in this story.”

“Who’s Anathema?” Warlock asked. 

“A witch who will almost _certainly_ invite you into her cottage for chocolate and lemonade,” Ashtoreth replied. 

“Which you should accept, she makes wonderful lemonade,” Aziraphale added. 

“Right. Now can I get on with the story?” 

“Yes, Nanny Ash.” 

“Right. Newton Pulsifer grew up on the small farm in Florin, and his favourite pastimes were riding his horse, and tormenting the poor form girl who worked there. She was Anathema, but Newton never called her that. Nothing gave Newton as much pleasure as ordering Anathema around.”

“Farm girl! Polish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning,” Newton ordered, sliding off his horse and walking over to where Anathema was hard at work. 

“As you wish,” Anathema replied. It was all she ever said. 

“Farm girl? Fill these with water… please.”

“As you wish.” 

Newton was amazed to discover that when Anathema was saying ‘as you wish’, she was really saying ‘I love you.’

And even more amazing was when he realized he truly loved her back. 

“Farm girl!” Newton called, as Anathema was about to step out the door. 

When Anathema turned around, Newton looked around frantically for something for her to do. He hadn’t thought that far in advance. 

He glanced above his head. “Fetch me that pitcher?” He asked, pointing to where it hung, directly in his reach. 

Anathema walked back into the little cottage, standing almost uncomfortably close to Newton. 

She reached above his head, and pulled down the pitcher. “As you wish.”

Anathema left the cottage, but Newton’s feet had him following her. 

“Farm girl?” 

She turned around. 

“Kiss me?” 

And she did. 

“Hold it, hold it! You tricked us!” Adam complained, glaring at Nanny Ash. “You’re trying to trick us! Where are the sports?”

“This is a _kissing_ book,” Pepper said distastefully. 

“First of all, Pepper, it’s not a book, it’s a story. Second, you’ve barely given me a moment to get started!” Nanny Ashtoreth scolded. 

“Well when does it get _good?”_ Adam asked. 

“Let me read it, and you’ll find out. Anathema had no money for them to get married, and nor did Newton, so she packed her worldly belongings and set out to seek her fortune at sea. It was a very emotional time for Newton.” 

“Why is Newton not the one going off to sea? He’s the man!” Wensleydale protested. 

“That’s sexist,” Pepper spat back. 

Ashtoreth ignored them. 

“I fear I’ll never see you again,” Newton whispered, holding Anathema close before she set out to leave.

“Of course you will.” 

“But what if something happens to you?” 

Anathema shook her head. “Listen to me, Newt. I will always come for you.” 

“But how can you be sure?”

“This is true love. You think this happens everyday?” 

Anathema kissed Newton Pulsifer goodbye, and she set off to leave the farm. 

But Anathema never reached her destination. Her ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts, a pirate who took no prisoners and left no captives alive. When Newton got the news that Anathema was murdered-”

“Murdered by pirates is good!”

“Shut it. He went into his room and shut the door. And for days, he neither slept nor ate. He knew he would never love again.

“But things change over time. Five years later, the main square of Florin City was filled as never before to hear the announcement of the great Prince Gabriel’s husband-to-be.”

“My people!” Gabriel cried out from where he stood high above the crowds, his parents standing behind him, loyal guard, Hastur, at his side. “A month from now, our country will have its five-hundreth anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a man who was once a commoner like yourselves… but perhaps you will not find him so _common_ now! Would you like to meet him?” 

The crowd erupted into cheers. 

Gabriel grinned. This was all going according to how he had planned it, of course. He motioned down to a set of stairs below him, level with the crowd. “My people! The Prince Newton!” 

The crowd bowed down to the prince, awed by his presence. 

Gabriel truthfully didn’t care much for his presence, but he served a purpose. 

“Newton’s emptiness consumed him. Although the law of the land gave Gabriel the right to choose his husband, Newton did not love him. Despite Gabriel’s reassurances that Newton would grow to love him, the only joy he found was in his daily ride.”

A squat bald man, originating from Sicily, standing in front of two others, cleared his throat. He smiled up at Newton, a smile full of obvious malice. 

Newton looked at the two other men standing nearby. 

There was a wiry man with a red mustache and long red hair on one side, a sword with a hilt that seemed just a little too large strapped to his belt. He pointedly did not look the prince in the eyes. 

The other was not wiry. He was tall and large and obviously strong. He had an angelic face, the lightest blond hair and eyes that seemed to dance between every colour imaginable. 

“We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?” The bald man asked, looking up at Newton. 

Newton stopped his horse. “There is nothing nearby, not for miles! You really are lost!”

“Then there will be no one to hear you _scream._ Zira!” 

The tall, large blond man walked up to Newton’s horse, and reached a hand up to Newton’s neck. “Truly sorry about this, my dear boy, but it should be over soon,” he said, pressing down on a nerve in Newton’s neck. 

Newton immediately crumpled off of the horse. Zira caught him. 

“Well? What next?” The wiry redhead asked, frowning at the bald man. “We’ve got the prince.” 

“Zira, take him to the boat,” the bald man instructed. He shed the jacket he was wearing, tore a strip of cloth from it and tucked it into Newton’s horse’s saddle. 

“What is that you’re ripping?” The swordsman asked. 

“It’s the fabric from the uniform of an Army officer of Guilder.”

“Who’s Guilder?” Zira asked. 

The bald man sighed. “Guilder is the country across the sea. The sworn enemy of Florin,” he replied, slapping the horse’s rump. “Go!”

The horse galloped off down the trail it had taken into the forest. 

Zira began heading for the boat, the prince still in his arms, with the bald man and the swordsman following behind him. “Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will tell the prince that the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds her body on their border, he’ll know he was right.”

The swordsman frowned. “You never said anythin’ about killing anyone.” 

The Sicilian huffed. “I hired you to help me start a _war._ It’s a prestigious line of work with a long history that sometimes requires a little bit of murder! Now get on the boat!”

The swordsman didn’t argue, he hopped easily from the shore to the deck of the boat, his landing barely even heard. 

Zira, on the other hand, made quite a lot of noise getting back onto the boat. “I just don’t think it’s right, Sandalphon, killing an innocent prince.” 

Sandalphon whirled around before he could _also_ jump on the boat. “Am I going mad, Zira, or did I just hear you say the word _think._ I didn’t hire you for your _brains,_ you oaf!” 

“I don’t think it’s right either,” said the swordsman, who had made his way to the front of the boat and was working on untying the ropes mooring it to the dock. 

“The sot has spoken!” Sandalphon said scornfully. “ _I_ will kill her, you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it. And don’t you _ever_ forget, Anthonio, when I found you, you were so slobbering drunk you couldn’t even buy your own _brandy.”_

Sandalphon climbed onto the boat at last, rounded on Zira. “And you were _friendless,_ you’re _always_ brainless, helpless, hopeless - do you want to go back to where you were when I found you? Lost and abandoned in Greenland? I’ll take you back and leave you to fend for yourself!” 

Zira could have plainly squashed Sandalphon like a bug, but he simply got more and more upset the more Sandalphon insulted him. 

Scowling, Anthonio cast the boat off and hopped back over to where Zira was sitting. “That Sandalphon, he makes a lot of _fuss_.” 

Zira seemed to think about those words for a moment. “I think he likes to yell at us.” 

Anthonio smiled. “Probably he means no harm.”

“But he’s really short on charm. Do you think we’ll be in waters with dolphins again soon, Anthonio?” 

“I have no idea where we’ll be for a long while, Zira. You’ve a great gift for rhyme.”

“Yes, some of the time,” Zira agreed. 

“Enough of that!” Sandalphon snapped. 

Anthonio stood again, peered into the horizon, but didn’t spot anything. “Zira, are there rocks ahead?”

“If there are, we’ll all be dead!” Zira didn’t answer the question, but he seemed a lot cheerier than before. Anthonio took that as a good sign. 

“No more rhymes now, I mean it!” Sandalphon shouted. 

“Anybody want a peanut?”

“Zira!”

Anthonio snickered and made his way to the helm of the boat, watching out behind them. “Zira, keep an eye on the prince, will you?” 

The swordsman glanced backwards again. He swore there was something in the water behind them. 

“We’ll be at the cliffs of insanity by dawn,” Sandalphon said. 

Anthonio nodded, looked backwards again. 

“Why are you doing that?”

“Making sure nobody’s following us,” Anthonio replied, as though the answer was obvious. 

“That would be inconceivable!” 

The prince cleared his throat, sitting up from where he laid next to Zira. “You will be caught. And when you are, Prince Gabriel will see you all hanged!” He said confidently. 

Sandalphon snorted, which Anthonio thought was really an unbecoming noise for him to make. “Of all the necks on this boat, your highness, the one you should be worrying about is your _own.”_

Anthonio dismissed their banter, looking back behind the boat. 

“Stop that, Anthonio! We can all relax, it’s almost over!”

“Are you sure no one is following us, Sandalphon?”

Sandalphon growled, deep in the back of his throat. “The very notion that we could be being followed right now is absolutely, utterly inconceivable! There is no one in all of Guilder who knows what we’re doing, and no one in all of Florin who could have caught up to us so quickly! Now, why do you ask?” 

Anthonio shrugged. “No reason. I just looked behind us and something was there.” 

“What.”

Anthonio shrugged again, pointed out across the waters. Sandalphon and Zira both moved to have a look. 

At first, Anthonio was pointing at nothing. There was nothing behind them, in the pitch-black waters in the middle of the dark night. 

But Anthonio knew what he had seen. He continued pointing into the blackness, even as Sandalphon turned to walk away, scoffing about how all the drink must have ruined Anthonio’s eyes. 

“There it is,” Anthonio said, peering at the black sailboat far behind them. 

It was flying black sails, as well, and despite how far away it appeared to be, it was clearly catching up to them. 

Sandalphon stared at the boat approaching them. Anthonio could _watch_ his brain try to come up with a good reason why it was there. “Probably just some local fisherman. Out for a pleasure cruise. At the middle of the night in eel-infested waters.”

Anthonio was about to tell Sandalphon just how stupid he thought _that_ explanation was, and probably get blasted about being slobering drunk again, but that got old after a while, when there was a splash from further up the boat. 

Anthonio, Zira and Sandalphon all whirled around to see the prince in the water, trying to swim away. 

“Go in! Get him!” Sandalphon screamed, pointing at the prince. 

Anthonio laughed. “You hired me for my _swordsmanship,_ Sandalphon. I don’t swim.” 

“I’m afraid I only dog-paddle,” Zira added. 

“Veer left!” Sandalphon barked. 

Zira immediately steered the boat to the right. Anthonio happened to _know_ Zira knew left from right very well, so he was just doing it to be a pain. “Left!”

Zira steered the ship in the right direction this time. Anthonio and Sandalphon leaned over the side of the boat, watching Prince Newton try to swim away. 

A harsh shrieking pierced the air, Anthonio winced. Sandalphon, on the other had, cackled like a madman. “Do you know what _that_ sound is, Prince Newton?” He demanded, leaning over the rail of the boat. 

If Anthonio didn’t still need to get paid, he would have taken the chance to push Sandalphon into the water as well, and make off with the boat. He and Zira could do quite well for themselves with a boat. 

But he still needed to be paid for this job. He didn’t even have pennies to scrape together for alcohol, as Sandalphon loved to point out. 

“Those, your highness, are shrieking eels! If you care to doubt me, go ahead, but I will warn you. They always grow louder before they feast on human flesh.”

Anthonio, in his plenty of time, had seen his fair share of shrieking eels, and really would rather not deal with them. He walked away from the edge, took over steering for Zira. “Go and help Sandalphon before he loses his head, would you?”

Zira nodded and walked over to the edge. 

“If you swim back now, I promise, no harm will come to you. I doubt the eels are going to offer you such a kind and generous offer!”

“Newton is a gutsy young man, despite what it may seem. The shrieking is getting louder by the second, but he doesn’t make a sound. Something large and dark swims passed him and he refuses to accept Sandalphon’s deal, to swim for the boat. He’s absolutely terrified, of course he is, but he doesn’t reply as a shrieking eel zeroes in on him, only a short distance away, coming closer and closer, opening its great jaws and thousands of needle sharp teeth race towards Newton. This is the end, he knows it. He’ll die at sea just as Anathema did. There’s nothing to be done as the eel lunges at him-”

Nanny Ask looked from anxious kid to anxious kid. “Newton doesn’t get eaten by the eels this time.” 

“What?” Warlock blinks a couple of times, seems startled. 

“The eel doesn’t get Newton. I’m telling you because you all look _rather_ nervous.” 

“I wasn’t nervous!” Brian exclaims. 

“We were maybe a little bit concerned. That is _not_ the same thing as nervous,” Wensleydale added. 

Nanny Ash glanced down at Aziraphale. “I don’t know, angel, if the story is already stressing them out, maybe we should take it slow. Stop here, resume another day.”

“No!” Adam replied immediately. “You can tell us a little more, if you want to, Nanny Ash.” 

Ashtoreth smiled, settled back in her seat, and began again. 


	2. Inconceivable!

“Right, now, where were we before I had to reassure you all? Let’s see, Prince Newton was in the water, an eel was about to eat him and-

A giant hand reached down and smacked the eel on the head. 

It abruptly stopped shrieking. 

The hand grabbed Newton under one arm and yanked him closer to the boat, where a second arm reached down, hooked under his other arm and hauled him onto the deck. 

“Put him down, put him down!” Sandalphon shouted, even as Zira was already doing so. 

“I think he’s getting closer,” Anthonio called from where he sat, watching the black ship trail behind them. 

Only it wasn’t trailing. He might have been imagining it, he wasn’t sober, that was true, but he thought he could see it sailing closer and closer. 

“It’s no concern of ours!” Sandalphon replied irritably, and he pulled out a rope to tie Newton’s hands. “I bet you think you’re brave. Some sort of fierce prince ready to stare death in the face to get away.”

“Only compared to you,” Newton replied, glaring at Sandalphon. 

The squat man didn’t even flinch at his insult. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to see death up-close and personal soon enough.” 

Anthonio had to admit, he admired the prince’s boldness. He smiled to himself as he carefully steered the ship closer to the Cliffs of Insanity. 

Sandalphon was really not much good at anything. He claimed he was the brains of their group, and Anthonio believed him, simply because he knew his own was pickled, and Zira was very intelligent, but he wasn’t especially wise. 

Still, in terms of real skills, it was Sandalphon who was useless. Anthonio was a swordsman, trained by one of the best he had ever met, the man he considered to be his father, the man who had made the sword he carried, although the hilt was too large for his hand. 

It hadn’t been meant for him, after all. He only carried it because the man it had been for was unworthy of it, a murderer and a thief. 

Anthonio was also the only one on the boat who could sail them through the Cliffs of Insanity. 

Zira was obviously the muscle, he was a well-trained warrior who could easily put either of the other men on the boat in their place if he had a reason to. 

There were other reasons why Zira was a good man to have in your corner, but Sandalphon didn’t know them. 

He wasn’t the sort of person who Zira would be in his corner for anything but money, anyways. 

Anthonio spared a glance back at the black sailboat behind them. 

Now it was close enough that he could see the captain, all dressed in black, long hair billowing in the breeze. 

A black captain’s hat sat upon their head. 

Anthonio got the feeling he was looking at a pirate. “Look! The boat is right on top of us! Is it sailing the same wind as us?”

It didn’t seem like it. The ship shouldn’t have managed to catch them. 

“Whoever it is, they’re too late,” Sandalphon said, grinning to himself. “See, the Cliffs of Insanity!”

Anthonio really didn’t need Sandalphon to point them out, he was the one sailing the boat towards the Cliffs. Sandalphon was rubbish with the fine movements it took to steer through the pass. 

The boat wouldn’t catch them, not even the way it was gaining on their ship. Anthonio was good at what he did, and he was too precise with his movements to be caught. 

The captain of the black ship was a skilled navigator, Anthonio would admit it. He wasn’t an easy ship to follow, he knew that, and the captain was doing rather well. 

He was actually fairly impressed. There weren't many sailors who could keep up with him, he had a lot of experience. A lot more than most did. 

But it wasn't going to matter. He carefully glided the boat up to the cliff's edge, furled the sails and jumped from the edge onto the stone shore to tie the boat into place. 

"We're ready, Sandalphon. Boat's not going anywhere," he reported, "and it looks like the rope is still in place from last time. Zira, I hope you're feeling strong."

"Have I ever let you down, Anthonio?" Zira asked, raising an eyebrow as he climbed off the boat with the prince under his arm. 

"I suppose you haven't," Anthonio replied. 

"Hurry up!" Sandalphon snapped, despite being the only one still on the boat. 

"Right. I've got the harness here, Zira, put it on, I'll get Sandy-pants and the prince strapped in," Anthonio said, as Zira placed the prince back on his feet. 

"Truly sorry about this, your majesty," Anthonio said, which wasn't even sarcasm, he found he did admire this prince, and tied the rope around his waist before attaching it to the harness Zira put on. 

He tied Sandalphon next, intentionally tighter than he needed to, then tied his own rope. "Alright, Zira, going up!" He said, grinned at his friend. 

Zira complied immediately. 

Anthonio didn't particularly hate heights, in fact, he liked being in the air, but he didn't like the possibility of falling. He clung to his own rope tighter than he needed to, knuckles going white everytime he looked down. Vertigo climbed in his stomach with every sway of the rope. 

"I've got you, Anthonio," Zira said quietly, "I won't let you fall."

Sandalphon scoffed at the reassurance Anthonio needed, but it did help the swordsman to relax a little. 

He trusted Zira. More than anyone else. And since he had experience falling, it was important to know that someone was looking out for him this time, that someone would catch him. 

Anthonio chanced another look down, swallowing vertigo, clinging to one of Zira's shoulders while he pitched himself forwards to see. 

"They're climbing the rope," he said incredulously. 

"Who?" Sandalphon demanded. 

"The captain in black," Anthonio replied, watching the figure who looked almost like a silhouette fly up the rope, hand over hand, moving fast as lightning. "He's gaining on us." 

"Inconceivable!"

That was enough for Sandalphon. He prodded Zira's shoulder, nearly throwing him off balance and leaving the swordsman clung to his other shoulder with white knuckles, heart racing as Zira fought to right them. "Faster!" Sandalphon shrieked. 

Zira grit his teeth and moved faster. "Anthonio, we're not going to fall," he murmured, "trust me. I need you to loosen your grip."

If he'd heard, it was likely that Sandalphon would have pried Anthonio's fingers up and thrown him from the harness for hindering Zira's climbing, but Zira said it quietly enough that only the swordsman heard. 

He took a deep breath and slackened his grip. 

This time, Sandalphon was the one to look down. 

The figure in black was gaining on them. Rather quickly. "Faster!" Sandalphon shrieked again. 

"I thought I was going faster!" Zira said irritably. 

"You were supposed to be this- this- this colossus! This big, legendary thing! Unmatched in strength! And yet they gain!" 

Zira frowned. "I'm carrying three people, Sandalphon, they're only carrying themself. I-"

"I do not accept excuses!" Sandalphon snapped, glaring at Zira. 

He shook his head. "I guess I'll just have to find myself a new giant."

"Don't say that, Sandalphon," Zira said, a little put out. 

He continued to climb, Anthonio was almost certain he was going more slowly now. The figure in black was gaining on them. 

"Have I made it clear that you job is at stake?" Sandalphon demanded. 

Zira ignored him and continued up the rope, finally reaching the top of the cliff and pulling himself up. Anthonio busied himself untying the ropes that bound himself, Sandalphon and Newton to Zira. 

As soon as Sandalphon was untied, he ran to where the rope was tied to a large rock, pulled out a knife and began sawing at the rope. 

"That's not very sporting, Sandalphon," Anthonio remarked, helping Newton back up to his feet. 

"Did anyone ask you, you slobbering drunk?" Sandalphon demanded, hacking at the rope. 

Anthonio glanced over the side. 

The figure in black was maybe fifty feet from the top now. "They're going to make it," he remarked casually. 

Sandalphon wasn't particularly good with the knife, that was the only reason he figured the figure was going to make it. 

"Then do something about it, Anthonio!" Sandalphon snapped. 

Anthonio sighed. Sandalphon was paying him, he was best to do what he was told. 

He drew his sword, pushed Sandalphon and his knife out of the way, raised his sword above his head and brought it down on the rope. 

His sword went through the rope like a hot knife through butter. 

It snaked off the edge of the cliff and plummeted down. 

There was a moment of silence while Anthonio sheathed his sword. 

"They have very good arms," Zira remarked, staring down the side of the cliff. 

Anthonio walked over to have a look. 

The figure in black was clinging to a jut of rocks, slowly hauling themself back up onto a ledge. 

"They didn't fall? Inconceivable!" Sandalphon cried, rushing to the edge to look. 

Anthonio fought the urge to push him over. "You keep using that word," he began, stepping away from the edge so he wouldn't act on his urge. "I do not think it means what you think it means."

"He's climbing," Zira reported, before walking away from the edge. 

"Inconceivable! They've obviously seen the prince, so they must die. You!" He pointed to Zira. "Carry him. We're going to continue to the Guildar frontier. You," he turned to Anthonio, "catch up with us when they're dead. If they fall, fine. If not, use your sword."

Anthonio frowned. "I want to duel them with my left hand," he decided, picking at his nails. 

Sandalphon glared at him. "You know what a hurry we're in." 

"It's the only way I'm going to be satisfied. If I use my right hand, it will be over too quickly," he decided. 

"Fine. Have it your way. Just make it quick and catch up when you're done." 

Zira lifted Prince Newton off the ground, turned to Anthonio. "You be careful, old friend. People in masks cannot be trusted."

"Zira!" Sandalphon snapped. 

"I'll be fine. Don't get left behind," Anthonio replied, and Zira hurried off. 

Anthonio drew his sword again, rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck, practiced a few of the moves that Domingo had taught him. 

Domingo had made the sword, and had taught Anthonio the art of the blade. He'd never been much of a swordsman, but with the swordsmith's tutelage he had quickly grown proficient. 

These days, he was matched by no other. He warned up both arms, then walked back over to the edge of the cliff. 

The figure in black had gained perhaps six inches. Anthonio sighed. 

He didn't like waiting. 

He shouted down the cliff. "Hello there!" 

The figure looked up, but didn't really respond. 

"Slow going?" 

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me." 

The voice that called back up the side of the cliff was that of a woman. Anthonio was surprised, and rather impressed. It had been a long time since he'd met a woman so capable, since society had decided they shouldn't be. 

He drew his sword again, danced around the terrain for a few more minutes, and then returned to the edge. 

The woman in black had not made much progress. "I don't suppose you could hurry things up a little," he called, bored. 

"If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do."

Anthonio looked at the rope left coiled around the rock that Sandalphon had made him cut. 

There was enough left to reach the woman in black. "I could do that," he agreed, frowning, "there is quite a length of rope up here that would probably reach you, but I do not believe you would accept my help, given that I am waiting up here to kill you."

"That does put a damper on our relationship," the woman in black agreed. She reached up, caught a stone a few inches higher and pulled herself up. It looked to be tremendously hard work. 

"But I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top," Anthonio said. 

That much was true. He wanted a swordfight. There was no sense in slaughtering the woman in black before she could provide that. 

"That's very comforting, but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait."

Anthonio sighed, paced around the top of the cliff for a little longer. 

He could wait. He would wait for the woman to reach the top of the cliff, give her some time to catch her breath, and then duel her with his left hand. He was excited at the prospect of a duel. 

But that could be hours from now. The woman was not making good progress. 

"I hate waiting. I could give you my word as a… as a Spaniard."

Anthonio was not Spanish. Domingo had been, however, and Domingo had pulled him out of a funk and treated him like his very own son, so he felt he might as well be. Domingo had been like a father in the time Anthonio had known him, and considering that, if Domingo was a Spaniard, so too should Anthonio be. 

"No good. I've known too many Spaniards."

She had a point. The word of a Spaniard was not much to go on. 

Anthonio thought about it, biting at his lip. "I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya, may he rest in peace, you will reach the top alive."

There was some hesitation, and then the woman conceded. "Throw me the rope."

Anthonio ran over and grabbed the remaining coils of rope and threw them over the side of the cliff. It fell next to the woman, and she grabbed onto it. 

Her climbing speed returned to how it had been when she had nearly caught Zira. 

Domingo Montoya was not Anthonio's father. Anthonio's name was Anthonio J Crowley, not Anthonio Montoya, but he felt as though Domingo may have been a father to him. 

He had sworn to avenge Domingo Montoya. It was close enough. 

He sat near the edge of the cliff, sharpening his blade while the woman climbed. When she reached the top, she drew her own blade. "Thank you for the rope."

Anthonio contemplated her. "You're exhausted. We will wait until you are ready. We're swordsmen, not barbarians," he decided. 

"Thank you."

The woman sat down beside the edge of the cliff. She pulled off her boots and dumped them out, several rocks fell to the ground. 

"I don't mean to pry, but I don't suppose you've ever met a man with six fingers on his right hand?" Anthonio asked, turning towards her. "I would ask if you had six fingers, but you are no man."

"Well observed. Do you always begin conversations like that?" The woman asked. 

"My father was slaughtered by a man with six fingers on his right hand. He was a wonderful swordsmith, unmatched throughout the world, and the six-fingered man had him make a sword. My father agreed. He slaved for a year before it was done."

Anthonio passed the woman the sword he now carried. 

"I've never seen its equal," she said, testing its weight in her hand. 

"The six-fingered man returned after a year. He demanded the sword for one tenth of the agreed upon price. My father refused. So… the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart. I loved my father, I challenged his murderer to a duel. And I failed."

He reached a hand up to his cheeks. "He left me alive, even let me keep the six-fingered sword, but he gave me these."

He ran his fingers down the long scars he had, one on each cheekbone. 

"How old were you?"

"Old enough to know I wouldn't win. Young enough not to care. Ever since I was strong enough, I've studied fencing. Next time I meet the six-fingered man, I will not fail. I will walk up to him and say 'Hello. My name is Anthonio J Crowley. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

If the woman realized that wasn't the same name he had given Domingo, she didn't remark on it. "You've done nothing but study the blade since you were young?" 

"I've been pursuing him more than studying of late. I cannot find him. It's been twenty years, I begin to lose hope."

The woman handed Anthonio back his sword, rose to her feet. "Well, I hope you find him someday," she said. 

"Are you ready then?" Anthonio asked. 

"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair."

Anthonio took his sword in his left hand, got to his feet. "Very well. You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you."

The woman might have smiled. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die."

"Begin!"


	3. Count Hastur?

Anthonio J Crowley had not sparred an equal in an extremely long time. 

And while he was not ready to declare the woman in black his equal, she was good. This was no 'en garde' tomfoolery, their blades barely touched, barely glanced off one another, each move perfectly met by its opposite.

Sword fighting was like dancing. If it was done wrong, it was clunky and awkward and difficult to follow, but done right there was grace and elegance and every move flowed into the next, each strike and parry and block made sense. 

It had been such a very long time since Anthonio had fought a worthy opponent to dance with. 

He pressed forwards, each movement of his six-fingered sword caught by the woman in black. The woman retreated up the rocky incline, but Anthonio wasn't foolish enough to think her retreat meant he had the upper hand. 

"You are using Bonetti's defense against me," he remarked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I thought it appropriate, given the rocky terrain."

It was appropriate for the terrain. But it was predictable for Anthonio. 

"Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro," Anthonio replied, and shifted his style ever so slightly. The woman in black pressed even further back. 

"Naturally," the woman agreed, as she furrowed her brow to cope with the new flurry of blows, "but I find Thibault tends to cancel out Capo Ferro, don't you?" 

There was nowhere else for the woman to go, he had driven her to the edge of the ruin they had climbed. She jumped down into the sand. 

Anthonio stared down at her in amusement. "Unless your opponent has studied his Agrippa," he replied, leaping from his perch and somersaulting clear over the woman's head, landing perfectly on his feet behind her, sword raised to continue fencing. "Which I have."

And so the duel continued. It was lightning fast, no room for mistakes but no one sloppy enough to make them. Once back on solid ground, it was the woman in black's turn to press into Anthonio's defenses, sending him slowly retreating. 

There was no stumbling, no scrambling, even as Anthonio's defense took him closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. He wasn't afraid. 

It was true, the woman in black had the advantage. If the battle continued like this, she would force him off the side of the cliff and he would plummet to his demise. 

But there was no cause for concern. 

In fact, he smiled. "You are wonderful!" He said, knowing his smile was unnerving the woman. 

"Thank you. I have worked very hard to become so," the woman replied, frowning. She slashed at Anthonio's defenses again, he let her. 

His feet were getting closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. "Truly, I admit it, you are better than me!" He declared, smile never dropping from his face.

"Then why are you smiling?" 

Crowley's smile grew even wider. "Because I know something you do not know."

"And that is?" 

"I am  _ not  _ left-handed."

Anthonio tossed his six-fingered blade into his other hand and immediately forced the woman back. She stared, stunned, as he turned the tide of their battle, her defenses barely able to keep up with his strikes now. 

He hadn't expected her to require the use of his right hand, but he was glad she did. It had been so very long since he'd had a worthy challenge. 

The woman kept retreating back up the ruins. She was trying anything now, any fake, feign or strike, but nothing was getting through Anthonio's defense. He reacted to her movements almost before she made them, made damn certain that she never landed a blow. 

"You're amazing!" The woman in black remarked. 

Anthonio had her back pinned against a stone pillar. "I should be, after twenty years."

"But there's something I feel I should tell you," she admitted. 

"What is it?" 

"I am not left handed either." 

Anthonio grit his teeth as she too switched hands. Their battle became more closely matched, and finally one of her blows caught his sword wrong and swung it out of his hand. 

He watched it clatter to the ground. 

There was no time to waste. He leapt from their battle ground, caught himself on a metal beam and swung himself over to his sword, finding it comfortably back in his hand a few seconds later. 

The woman swung herself down in front of him, landed with a backflip. 

"Who are you?" Anthonio asked. 

"I'm no one of consequence," the woman in black replied. 

"Truly, I must know."

"Get used to disappointment."

And their battle began again. Back and forth, equally matched, neither gaining any ground nor giving it. 

Until the woman knocked his sword from his grasp again. 

He caught it, but at this time, he knew. 

She  _ was  _ better than him. He had put everything he had into this fight, every technique, every strike, and she had matched them all. When yet again she disarmed him, he only stood stunned for a few seconds before falling to his knees and bowing his head. 

He had lost. He would never avenge Domingo. He wasn't good enough. He was going to die on the top of the Cliffs of Insanity, where his body may never be found. "I'm sorry, father," he breathed, then looked up at the woman. "Kill me quickly." 

The woman frowned. "I would sooner destroy a priceless stained glass window than an artist such as yourself, Anthonio of Spain. However, I can't have you following me."

She swung her blade down and struck Anthonio with the hilt of her blade. He pitched forwards, unconscious but not dead. 

"Please understand, I hold you in the highest respect," she said, and placed his sword beside him in the dirt before she continued down the trail. 

She had a Sicilian to catch up to, and not a second to waste. She left the swordsman crumpled on the ground in the dust of her wake. 

"Inconceivable!" 

Anthonio was right, that word did  _ not  _ mean what Sandalphon thought it meant, but Zira didn't bother to start an argument about it. 

When he saw who was running over the cliff, he felt a pitch of fear for his dear friend. 

It was the woman in black. "Sandalphon, if she's made it-"

"Then she killed my Spaniard!" Sandalphon said irritably. 

Zira was smarter than anyone but Anthonio gave him credit for, but he had been hoping he wasn't right. Sandalphon’s ‘Spaniard’ was Anthonio, of course, although Anthonio was no more Spanish than he was any other nationality. 

So his closest friend was dead. Zira bowed his head sorrowfully. 

“Give me the prince!” Sandalphon snapped, although Zira didn’t know what he thought he was going to do with Prince Newton, who was larger than Sandalphon. “Catch up with us quickly!”

Zira frowned, looking at the woman in black who was running after them. “What is it that you’re expecting me to do, Sandalphon?”

“Finish him!” Sandalphon snarled, “Finish him your way!”

“Oh, good. My way. That’s right, thank you Sandalphon, only… which way is my way?” Zira asked, a little miffed. 

There were a lot of ways he could stop the woman in black. 

Sandalphon practically growled. He pointed to a huge pile of boulders that lay off to the side. “Pick up one of those rocks, get behind a boulder, and in a few minutes, the Woman in Black will come running around the bend. The minute you can see her head, hit it with the rock!” 

Sandalphon didn’t give Zira a chance to say anything else. He ran off with Prince Newton. 

Zira sighed and walked over to the pile of rocks, picked up a fair-sized one. “You know, my way isn’t very sporting. I can  _ also _ use a sword, I’ve been doing it for longer than Anthonio.” 

No one was there to listen. Zira settled himself behind a huge stone and waited for the woman to appear. 

But still, when she did, he couldn’t bring himself to take aim the way that Sandalphon had told him. He through the rock as hard as he could, and it shattered against the stone the woman was in front of, right ahead of her face. 

She froze, staring at the spot where the rock had broken until Zira stepped into sight on the trail.    
“I did that on purpose, you know, miss. I didn’t have to miss.” Zira said, picking up another stone, spinning it in his hands. 

“I believe you,” the woman agreed, staring him up and down. “So what happens now?”

Zira might have felt bad for what he was about to say, but this woman had slain his only friend. She deserved whatever came to her. Anthonio hadn’t deserved to die. “We face each other the way God intended. Sportsmanlike and such. No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone.”

The woman frowned. “You mean, you’ll put down your rock and I’ll put down my sword, and we try to kill each other like civilized people?”

Zira tossed the rock from hand to hand. “I could kill you now,” he offered, lifting the stone over his shoulder. The woman in black shook his head and took off her sword and scabbard. 

“Frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favour at hand fighting,” she said. 

“It’s not my fault I’m always the biggest and the strongest. I don’t even exercise.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” the woman in black remarked, stretching out her arms as Zira tossed aside his rock and stepped towards her. 

The woman was not small, but most people looked small compared to Zira these days. 

The woman dove at his chest, slammed several blows into his stomach, grabbed ahold of his arm and twisted it back behind him, and then did a move that probably  _ should _ have brought a normal man to the ground. 

Zira just stood there. He looked around the hills. 

Finally, the woman stepped away. “Look, are you just fiddling around with me, or what?” She asked, frowning. 

“I just want you to feel you’re doing well. It is a terrible thing, for someone to die embarrassed,” Zira replied. 

And then, without giving the woman a chance to say anything else, he jumped forwards, shockingly fast. The woman in black dropped to her knees, spun loose of his grasp and slipped away between Zira’s legs. 

“You’re quick,” Zira remarked, taking his stance again. 

“And good thing, too,” the woman said, brushing herself off. 

“Why do you wear a mask? Were you burned by acid, or something like that?” Zira asked. 

“Oh, no, it’s just that they’re terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the near future.”

Zira supposed she might be right. Then he lunged back at the woman. 

He was impossibly fast for his size, even faster this time, but the woman still managed to slip down and avoid his charge. Zira moved with her, having learned this trick last time, but this time she took advantage of his stooped position, she leapt up onto his back and wrapped her arms around Zira’s throat from behind. 

She squeezed as tightly as she could. It was, in fact, rather tight. Zira didn’t really appreciate the constriction. 

“I just figured out why you give me so much trouble,” he said conversationally, charging towards one of the huge rocks, turning just in time to make the woman on his back take the impact. 

She still didn’t let go. 

“Why is that, do you think?” she asked, seeming to be just as curious. 

Zira struggled a bit more to speak this time. “Well, I haven’t fought just one person for so long. I’ve been specializing in groups. Battling gangs for local charities, that kind of thing.” 

He charged back at another rock, slammed the woman into that one as well. This time her grip faltered for just a moment, but she held on.

“Why should that make such a difference?” She asked. 

“Well…” now he was really struggling to breathe. “You see… you use different moves when you’re fighting half a dozen people than when you only have to be worried about one.”

He managed to slam the woman into another boulder, but this time, after he had managed, his legs slowly went out from under him. 

He tried to stand again, but he didn’t manage it. He fell to his knees, held there for a moment and then pitched down on all fours. The woman in black only increased the pressure, and Zira collapsed completely to the earth. 

The woman rolled him over, pressed her head to his chest, heard his heart beating strongly. 

“Well, I don’t envy you the headache you will have when you awake. But, in the meantime, rest well, dream of large women… or men, if you prefer. Or the Spaniard, if he’s your type, he was pretty cute.”

Gabriel gazed out over the top of the cliffs, carefully traced his feet over the path taken by the Spaniard and the woman in black during their battle. He appeared scattered to the untrained eye. He may seem as though he was a terrible hunter, if it weren’t for one fact: he followed the steps of the battle perfectly. 

“There was a mighty duel, it ranged all over. They were both masters, it would seem,” he reported. 

Behind him, still on his horse, was Count Hastur. Count Hastur was an ugly man in a yellow tunic, with strange black marks on his face. 

A close look at his gloves would reveal that he had six fingers on his right hand. “Who won? How did it-”

_ “Hastur _ is the six-fingered man?” Warlock asked incredulously, pulling a face. 

“Who is Hastur?” Adam asked. 

“Warlock is the only one who met Hastur, and that reminds me, when we finish this story I still need to take you out for ice cream. He told me what you said to him at the Fields of Megiddo.” 

“He reeked, I only told him the truth,” Warlock said noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders.

“And I have never been more proud of you in your entire life, Warlock,” Nanny Ashtoreth replied, “but no, just like Anathema and Newton, the person in this story isn’t  _ really _ Hastur. I just thought it would help to have some people to visualize. Gabriel, Sandalphon-”

“Who none of you ever met,” Aziraphale said helpfully.

“-Correct, Hastur, Anthema and Newton are not actually in this story.”

“And you two?” Pepper asked.

“I never said we were in this story.”

“Anthonio J Crowley is  _ obviously _ you, Nanny Ash,” Pepper said, “and it’s not hard to guess who Zira is. Did this really happen?”

Nanny Ashtoreth smiled. “Why don’t you just let me finish?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. 

“”Who won? How did it end?” Hastur asked. 

Gabriel studied the place where one of the fighters had fallen. “The loser ran off alone,” he reported, seeing footprint leading away from Guilder/    
The winner followed those footprints towards Guilder.”

Hastur smiled. “Shall we track them both?”

“The loser is  _ nothing.  _ Only the princess matters. Clearly this was all planned by the warriors of Guilder. We must be ready for whatever lies ahead.”

Hastur frowned, walked his horse over to Prince Gabriel. “Could this be a trap?”

Gabriel, who was approaching his own pure white horse, turned around to face Hastur. “I always think everything could be a trap - which is what I’m still alive.”


	4. As You Wish (Roll Credits)

Sandalphon sat before a picnic with a dagger held against Newton's throat as the woman in black charged towards him. 

Newton was blindfolded. He seemed to stare straight ahead. 

The picnic was a lovely little spread, with a pretty tablecloth, two goblets and a pitcher of wine, some cheese and some apples. 

"So it is down to you, and it is down to me," Sandalphon said. 

The woman in black continued to step towards Sandalphon. "If you wish him dead, by all means, keep moving forward." 

The woman stopped, contemplated Sandalphon and Newton. The impish man pressed the dagger more harshly into Newton's throat. 

"Let me explain," the woman said. 

"There's nothing to explain. You're attempting to kidnap what I've rightfully stolen," Sandalphon said. 

"Perhaps an arrangement can be made," the woman in black said, taking another step forward. 

"There will be no arrangement," Sandalphon said, pressing harder on the dagger. "You're killing him!"

The woman in black stopped short as Sandalphon jabbed Newton's throat. The prince cried out in pain. 

"Then we are at an impasse," she said. 

"I'm afraid so. I am no match with you physically, and you cannot hope to compete with my brains."

"You're that smart?" The woman asked, an edge in her voice. 

"Let me put it this way. Have you ever heard of Plato? Aristotle? Socrates?" 

The woman nodded. "Of course."

"Morons!" 

The woman in black smiled. "In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits."

Sandalphon grinned. "For the prince?" 

The woman nodded. 

"To the death?"

Another nod. 

"I accept!" 

The woman smiled. "Good. Then pour the wine."

She walked over and sat at the other side of the picnic spread. Sandalphon poured the dark red liquid into the goblets, and she pulled a small phial of something out of her pocket and handed it over. "Inhale this, but do not touch."

Sandalphon removed the stopper, sniffed the powder inside. "I smell nothing."

The woman nodded. "What you do not smell is iocane powder. It is odorless, tasteless, and dissolves instantly in liquid. It is among the more deadly poisons known to man."

She took the phial back, and both of the goblets, twisted away from Sandalphon and turned back around a few seconds later. 

The phial was empty. The woman placed one goblet before Sandalphon, and one before herself. “Alright. Where is the poison? The battle of wits had begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is dead, and who is right.

Sandalphon snorted. “But it’s so simple! All I have to do is divine from what I know of you. Are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet, or his enemy’s?”

He held the woman in black’s gaze for a while. “Now, a clever man would put the poison in his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I’m not a great fool, so I clearly cannot choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool; you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.” 

The woman smiled, a little nervous. “You’ve made your decision, then?” 

Sandalphon laughed. “Not remotely! Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows. And Australia is entirely peopled with criminals. And criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me. So I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.” 

The woman seemed amused now. “Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.”

“Wait until I get going!” Sandalphon cackled, “where was I?”

“Australia.”

“Yes! Australia, and you must have suspected I would have known the powder’s origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“You’re just stalling now,” the woman said, frowning. 

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” You’ve beaten my giant, which means you’re exceptionally strong. So, you could have put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you. So I clearly cannot choose the wine in front of you. But, you’ve also beaten my Spaniard which means you must have studied. And in studying, you must have learned that man is mortal so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

The woman huffed. “You’re trying to trick me into giving away something. It won’t work.” 

“It  _ has _ worked! You’ve given away everything! I know where the poison is.”

The woman smiled. “Then make your choice and drink.”

“I will! And I choose-”

Sandalphon stopped, pointed at something over the woman in black’s shoulder. “What in the world could that be?”

The woman whirled around, didn’t see anything there. “What, I don’t see anything!”

While the woman was turned around, Sandalphon switched which glass was in front of the woman, and which was in front of him. “Oh, well, I- I could have sworn I saw something. No matter!”

The woman in black turned back around as Sandalphon began to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, let’s drink - me from my glass, and you from yours.”

Sandalphon picked up his goblet, held it out for a second as the woman lifted hers. 

And then they both swallowed down their wine. 

“You guessed wrong.”   
Sandalphon roared with laughter. “You only think I guessed wrong! That’s what’s so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned, you fool!” 

The woman in black didn’t say anything. There was nothing she could say, she just sat there, staring into her goblet. 

“You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is ‘Never get involved in a land war in Asia,’ but only slightly less well known is this: Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!” 

Sandalphon continued to laugh, louder and louder, cackling and waiting for the woman to slump over, until he fell over, dead. 

The woman in black placed her goblet on the rockface, stepped past the corpse and pulled the blindfold off of Newton. 

“Who are you?” He asked, as the woman in black pulled him to his feet. 

“I am no one to be trifled with, that is all you ever need know.”

The woman started to walk off of the mountain path into untravelled terrain. 

“To think, all that time it was your cup that was poisoned,” Newton remarked, staring down at Sandalphon’s corpse, lying on the ground. 

The woman in black shook her head. “They were both poisoned. I spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder.”

And when she finished speaking, she ran off, dragging Prince Newton behind her. 

Gabriel gazed over the terrain in front of him. 

All around, there were scuff marks on the ground, scattered throughout the mountain path. He crouched down, brushed some of the sand between his gloves and then looked around. 

Count Hastur was still on his horse, behind Prince Gabriel. He looked expectantly at the prince. “What has happened here?”

Gabriel’s mouth formed a hard line. “Someone has beaten a giant. There will be great suffering in Guilder if he dies.” 

He climbed back onto his horse, and they charged off. 

Newton was wheezing for air when the woman in black finally let go of his arm and let him stumble to the ground. 

“Catch your breath,” the woman instructed, glaring down at him from behind her mask. 

“If you’ll release me… whatever you ask for ransom… you’ll get it, I promise you…” 

The woman in black scoffed. “And what is that worth, the promise of a man? You’re very funny, highness. I’ve had the promise of a man before, and all it bestowed on me was hard labor, sufferance and heartbreak.”

“I was giving you a chance,” Newton said darkly, “no matter where you take me, there’s no greater hunter than Prince Gabriel. He could track a falcon on a cloudy day, and he can find you.”

The woman in black sneered. “You think your dearest love will save you?”   
“I never said he was my dearest love. And yes, he will save me. That I know.”

The woman in black may have raised an eyebrow, but it was impossible to know. “You admit that you do not love your fiance?” She demanded. 

“He knows that I do not love him,” Newton replied. 

“Are not capable of love is what you mean,” the woman hissed, turning away from him.    
Newton bristled. “I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever dream!” He shouted. 

The woman whirled around, her hand raised, ready to strike. Newton flinched, but didn’t retreat. “That was a warning, Highness. The next time, my hand flies on its own. Where I come from, there are penalties when you lie.”

Gabriel handed Hastur the small phial the woman in black had been carrying. “Iocane. I’d bet my life on it.” 

Iocane was an odorless and tasteless poison, so it was odd that Prince Gabriel could tell what it was just by examining the phial. He stood back up, studied the footprints on the ground. “And there are Prince Newton’s footprints. He is alive… or was, an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find him, I shall be very put out.”

He gave Sandalphon’s body a vicious kick as he walked past it. He was a good-for-nothing traitor. 

Gabriel vaulted onto his horse and charged off. 

Newton fell to the ground as the woman in black released his arm. He stared down the side of a nearly sheer ravine, which they had been running along for some time. It would be a long and painful fall to the flat bottom of it if he was to slip.

“Rest, Highness,” the woman ordered. 

Newton stared at her. “I know who you must be, although it makes no sense. Your cruelty reveals everything.”

The woman in black did not say anything, divulged no information to Newton. 

“You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts, admit it!” 

At that, the woman in black smiled, tucked one foot behind her and ducked into a bow. “With pride. What can I do for you?”

Newton glowered at her. “You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces,” he snarled. 

“Hardly complimentary, your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?” She asked. 

Newton fell quiet, looked down at the ground. “You killed my love.”

“It’s possible, I kill a lot of people,” the pirate agreed, “who was this love of yours? Another Prince, like this one, ugly, scabby and rich?”

Newton shook his head. “No. A farm girl who worked for my family. Poor. Poor and perfect, with brown eyes you could drown in. On the high seas, your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

The pirate shrugged. “I can’t afford to make exceptions. Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it’s nothing but work, work, work, all of the time. I can’t be bothered with it.”

“You mock my pain!” Newton cried. 

“Life is pain, Highness!” The Dread Pirate Roberts snapped, “anyone who says differently is selling something. I remember this farm girl of yours, I think. This would be, what, five years ago?”

Newton nodded. 

“Does it bother you to hear?”

Newton shook his head. “Nothing you can say will upset me.”

The pirate took his word for it. “She died well, that should please you. No bride attempts or blubbering. She simply said, ‘Please. Please, I need to live.’ It was the ‘please’ that caught my memory. I asked her what was so important for her. ‘True love,’ she replied, and then she spoke of a man of surpassing beauty and faithfulness. I can only assume she meant you. You should bless me for destroying her before she found out what you  _ really _ are.”

“And what am I?” Newton demanded. 

“Faithfulness she talked of, Highness, your enduring faithfulness! Now, tell me truly. When you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your Prince the same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?” She demanded.    
“You mocked me once, never do it again! I died that day!” 

The pirate was about to reply when something caught her eye. She could see a dust cloud caused by horses racing into the sky, fast approaching them.

“You can die too, for all I care!” Newton said, and shoved, surprisingly hard, into the woman in black. 

She teetered at the edge of the ravine for a moment, and then fell over the side, going head over heels down the ravine, crashing away towards the rock floor below. 

Newton felt nothing but relief until he heard the woman shout something up the ravine. “....As… you… wish…”

Newton’s stomach dropped into his shoes. “Oh, my sweet Anathema! What have I done?” He gasped. 

Without a single thought of the danger, Newton threw himself down the side of the ravine. 

Prince Gabriel stopped his horse where he could see the spot where the prince and the stranger in black had stood mere moments ago. They had disappeared over the edge as soon as he caught sight of them. 

“Disappeared. She must have seen us closing in, which might account for her panicking in error. Unless I’m wrong, and I am never wrong, they are headed dead into the fire swamp,” he remarked, frowning. 

Count Hastur went pale at the thought of the fire swamp. “And what do we do now, sire?” He asked. 

“We’ll cut them off at the other side. Either they’ll survive the swamp and be caught on the other side, or they will both perish.”


	5. The Fire Swamp

Anathema and Newton both tumbled to the ground at the bottom of the ravine, torn and bruised. 

Both were still for a very long time. Long enough that they might have been dead-"

"How do you know that, Crowley, you were running down from the cliffs at this time!" Brian complained. 

"After you got beat by a girl!" 

"That's sexist, Wensley!" Pepper snapped.

"Need I remind you, Brian, that it's you kids who decided that Aziraphale and I are in this story. How do you know that Anthonio and Zira aren't simply meant to familiarise you with the characters like Anathema and Newton are?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not to mention, Wensleydale, that I'm currently also a woman, so I'm not sure how being beaten by a woman is supposed to be embarrassing to me."

Aziraphale snickered to himself as the children fell quiet. 

"Now, can I continue?" 

"Please do, Nanny Ash!" Warlock piped up. 

"-Long enough that they might have been dead. Long enough that they may simply have been lifeless corpses left to rot together on the floor of the ravine.

And then Anathema stirred. 

She crawled slowly towards Newton, tapped him on the shoulder. "Can you move at all?" She asked, voice hoarse. Her mask was askew, revealing the face Newton had missed for so long. 

"Move? You're alive, Anathema, if you want, I can fly," Newton promised, although it took him a rather long time to sit up and look at her. 

Anathema pulled away her mask. She frowned. "I told you I would always come for you! Why didn't you wait for me, my love?" 

Newton stared at her. "You were dead!"

Anathema smiled. "Death cannot stop true love, only delay it a little while."

Newton beamed. "I will never doubt again."

"There will never be reason to," Anathema promised.

She leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet and as tenderly as-"

"No, no no!" Pepper practically shouted her protest. "They're kissing again! You said this wasn't a kissing story, Crowley!" 

"It's not a kissing story, Pepper, there's just a few kisses in it."

"Do we have to hear the kissing part? Why don't you skip to the part about the fire swamp, that sounded good!" 

"You kids keep interrupting, it's like you don't want to hear the story at all!" Crowley remarked. 

"Actually, we never said we did," Wensleydale pointed out, "you made us all come sit and listen."

"Onto the fire swamp!" Pepper and Adam said over Wensley's facts. 

"Very well," Crowley agreed, with a bit of a huff, "but quit interrupting me!"

"The fire swamp had quite the reputation. Anyone who was anyone in the area of Guildar or Florence knew about it. They knew that whoever entered it never exited again.

There were three things to worry about in the fire swamp. The first was possibly the most obvious, given the name. At random occasions with almost no warning, a column of fire would erupt up from the ground, burning whoever was unlucky enough to be standing there to a crisp. Those flares had gotten it's fair share of unsuspecting adventurers before the rumors about the swamp started flying. 

The second thing to know about was known as lightning sand. Now, anyone who had picked up a book and read an adventure story knew what quicksand was. Finely waterized sand that would suck anyone who happened to stand on it deep into its clutches. But quicksand was easy to deal with. It wasn't particularly fast, and while it was heavy, it was very easy to learn how to get out of it.

This was where lightning sand differentiated itself. lightning sand was not waterized, it was aerated. And due to air being significantly less dense than water, it was much much quicker, and much much deadlier. Getting out of lightning sand was not something you could train yourself for. Anyone can swim in water and force their way up when there's a substance to fight against, with lightning sand there was almost no such thing.

If you were to venture into the fire swamp and the random outburst of fire didn't get you, and you didn't fall to your death in a pit of lightning sand, which wasn't likely you had to do with the ROUS. Most people didn't believe they existed, as, well, no one had made it back out of the fire swamp to really tell of their existence. But they were there, always watching. They appreciated a nice home cooked meal from the outcroppings of fire.

It was for all of those particular reasons, wisely including the ROUS'. That Newton could not figure out why Anathema Device would bring him into the fire swamp. He wondered if too many years of piracy had gone to her head, if perhaps somewhere along the way she had drank too much seawater. No one survived in the fire swamp. It appeared his dearest love had rescued him from Sandalphon, the Spaniard and the Giant, only to lead him directly into his death. And while he would rather die by her side than not, he wasn't particularly invested in dying today in the long run.

He knew he should trust Anathema. She had rescued him from his captors, survived the Dread Pirate Roberts long enough to become the Dread Pirate Roberts herself. But that was rather difficult when she was insisting on leading them into what he assumed was certain death. It was one thing to trust your lover, it was one thing to continue to trust your lover for years and years even after they disappeared at sea and were presumed dead.

But it was quite another to trust your lover when they said, "Let's go into that deadly swamp together to escape."

Anathema had not said that in as many words, but that was where she was leading them. 

Anathema finally spoke after Newton's last doubts of where they were going were banished. "Ha!" She declared, gazing up at the top of the ravine. "Your pig-faced fiance is too late! Only a few more steps, and you and I will be safe in the fire swamp!" 

And now she had said it. "We'll never survive!" Newton cried. 

"Nonsense! You're only saying that because no one ever has!" Anathema said. 

The fire swamp smelled of sulfur and damp moss. It was dark and dingy and while it was not really any more unpleasant than any other sulfurous swamp, it wasn't inviting. 

Anathema gave the place a cursory look around. "It's actually not that bad here," she remarked, examining one of the trees. "I'm not saying I would like to build a summer home, but the trees are actually quite lovely."

Newton didn't share her fondness for the ugly, trailing, green-brown trees, but before he could voice that thought, there was a loud popping sound at his feet.

Now, if one had paid attention during the description of the perils of the fire swamp, or simply have the name some thought, it would come as no surprise that seconds later, a massive column of fire erupted out of the ground. Anathema was narrowly missed by the flames, but it set Newton's trousers alight. 

The would-be prince panicked, leaping back from the fire and yelling hysterically until Anathema made him sit down, and she patted the fire out. Her hands singed a little, but she pulled Newton to his feet, not much worse for wear. 

"Singed a bit, are you?" Anathema asked, ignoring the burns on her hands. 

"No, you?"

"No," Anathema replied, and was about to take another step forward when there was another popping sound. 

Quick as lightning, Anathema grabbed Newton by the shoulders and spun him out of the way of another column of fire. "Well, I'll say one thing for it. The fire swamp does an excellent job of keeping people on their toes. Shall we continue?" 

She offered her arm to Newt, and he didn't really have a choice but to accept it and keep moving. 

It was that or lose Anathema again.

"Soon this will be nothing but a happy memory!" Anathema said, pulling Newt away from another jet of flames. "For the great ship Revenge is moored at the other end of this swamp, and as you know, Revenge belongs to the Dread Pirate Roberts, and I am he, so to speak."

Newton frowned. "How can you possibly be the Dread Pirate Roberts? Roberts has been sailing the seas, slaughtering honest workers for the last twenty years, and you've been gone just five!" 

Anathema frowned. She hacked away at a couple of vines that showed too much interest in her and Newt, then began speaking. "Yes, I suppose that is a little peculiar, life's quirks are often pleasantly surprising. Let me start at the beginning. See, everything I told you that I said to the Dread Pirate Roberts was true. I really did say 'please,' and that intrigued him, as did my descriptions of you."

Newt waited with bated breath for her to continue. "So finally, Roberts says to me, I've never had a valet before, but you can try it for tonight. I'll most likely kill you in the morning. Three years, he told me that! 'Good night, Anathema. Good work, I'll most likely kill you in the morning.' It was an enlightening time for me, I learned to sail a ship, I learned to fight, anything that a crew member was willing to teach me. Eventually, Roberts and I even became friends. And then it happened."

"What happened?" 

Anathema smiled over at Newton, helped him keep his footing over a small, rotten bridge. "Well, Roberts had gotten so rich that he wanted to retire. So that's when he called me into his quarters, I figured my time was up and he was going to kill me, it had been an educational three years and I decided not to protest. But instead, he told me a secret. He looked at me and he said 'I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts. My name is Ryan. I inherited this boat from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, who wasn't really Roberts either, his name was Cumberbund.' He explained to me that the real Roberts had been retired fifteen years, and was living like a king in Patagonia. Cumberbund had inherited the ship from Roberts, Ryan was given the ship by Cumberbund, and now Ryan intended for me to take the ship. But there was one catch. Piracy is all in the branding. No one would be afraid of the Dread Pirate Anathema, and therefore no one would surrender to me. They would, however, surrender to Roberts."

Newton didn't seem to be following this very well, but he nodded anyways. 

"So, Ryan took us ashore and we boarded the Revenge with a whole new crew and Ryan as the first mate. All the while, he called me Roberts. After a while, he retired and went ashore, and I've been the Dread Pirate Roberts ever since! Now that I've found you, I will similarly retire and pass the name onto someone else. Make sense?" 

Newton never got a chance to answer, due to him not remembering to heed the second warning of the fire swamp. 

He took a step forward, and the ground immediately gave beneath his feet. 

With barely a chance to scream, he plummeted deep into the lightning sand. 

Anathema wasted no time grabbing a vine and diving in after him. 

The surface of the lightning sand swallowed them both easily, returned to its undisturbed, innocent appearance. 

From in the shadows of the trees, something with beady black eyes watched with curiosity for a few moments, and then turned away. 

The lightning sand remained undisturbed until finally, a hand pulled itself from with it, hauling up on the vine. Anathema pulled herself back up onto solid ground, and Newton behind her, caked in white sand and gasping for air. 

Quickly, she set about cleaning the unpleasant sand off of her lover-"

"Eww, stop using that word!" Pepper complained. 

"Stop interrupting me," Crowley retorted. 

"-all the while unnoticing of the creature watching them within the trees. It crept towards the pair, and soon, in the shadows, there were more beady eyes glinting. 

"We're going to die in here!" Newton said, still spitting out sand and gasping for air. 

"Don't say that!" Anathema said. "We've already succeeded! Think about it! What are the dangers of the fire swamp? The flame spurts? We've figured that one out, haven't we, there's a convenient popping noise before one goes off. Speaking of which," Anathema pulled Newton away from another geiser. "The lightning sand? You've conveniently discovered what that looks like, it should be no problem to avoid it in the future."

Anathema looked around with a smile that almost convinced Newton she had really gone mad. "We've uncovered all the warning signs! We could live for months or years in here, unbothered by the dangers!"

Newton chewed on one of his lips, nervous. "But Anathema, what about the ROUS'?"

Anathema snorted. "Rodents Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist."

It was the wrong thing to say. ROUS' absolutely did exist, and they were the one danger of the fire swamp that Anathema and Newton had yet to beat. 

True to their name, they were horrible, overgrown rats, the size of large dogs, and one dropped down out of its tree onto Anathema, digging its pointed, filthy teeth into her shoulder. 

Anathema struggled under the weight of the rat, desperately trying to push it off. She hit it hard in the nose, and it retreated off of her, squeaking a shrill cry of defeat. 

She plunged her sword a great many times into its side.

Anathema would have had time to feel accomplished if Newton hadn't shrieked behind her. She whirled around and saw a rat moving on the prince. She discarded her sword, lunged at and attacked on of the ROUS', pulling on its tail and trying to force it away from Newton.

But it wasn't a fight she could maintain long. Newton tried to smash the head of the rat with a branch, like a club, but its needle teeth caught Newton's trousers and he tumbled to the ground. 

Anathema leapt into it back and pulled it off of Newton. It rounded on her, snapping its teeth in her face. Its breath was putrid, and Anathema could hardly keep it away from her face. 

Then she heard a familiar popping sound. 

She rolled towards the source, and just as a stream of fire rushed up from the swamp floor, she thrust the ROUS into it. 

It let out one last horrible shriek, and feel still. 

Anathema stabbed it several times with her sword for good measure. 

After walking a while longer, now fully aware of the perils of the swamp, they neared the far edge. 

"There," Anathema said, satisfied. "Now, was that so bad?" 

And then a sword held by a man with six fingers slipped up under her chin. "Surrender!"


End file.
